Ve'Rah Daa (The Ephemeral: Book 3)

Chapter 12

"Again."

I blew a silver curl out of my face and glared at my opponent.

Will pinned me to frosted grass, his hands holding either wrist flat to the ground above my head. Unbudging and inexorable.

During our lunch break, the prince had asked me to recreate my kidnapping in Cult City to help me practice escaping a captor—just in case I found myself in a similar situation again, with my hands impaired and my strength outmatched. But what I'd imagined as a brief hand-to-hand combat lesson had evolved into a full-blown wrestling match.

"Pelvic floor," he instructed. "Like your life depends on it this time."

I gathered my breath, replaying the steps over in my mind. Then I thrusted my hips upward and yanked my elbows down to my sides, throwing his entire body forward into a plank. The motion freed my hands, and as Will reached out to catch himself, I wrapped my arm around his bicep—locking him in place—and shoved him off my body with my left hand.

I scrambled away, delighted that I'd mastered the technique. But my pride took a nosedive as soon as I tried to run.

Will's arms circled my waist, and before I could think of an effective defense tactic, he'd pulled me back to the ground and flipped me over.

Just like that, I was back to stage one, trapped beneath his weight and conceited gaze.

Dammit.

We stared at one another, my glower useless against his smug expression, my arms hostage to his vice grip. Loose hair fell down around his face, shading his eyes and the solid line splitting his smirk.

We took a few seconds to catch our breath, and I couldn't stop myself from studying his features and their strange juxtapositions.

His pointy edges were perfect and shapely, drawn with a meticulous hand, and yet there was a softness to his rounded nose and cupid's bow—a kind of femininity to his long lashes and silky bangs. His hooded eyes were narrow and mean like his brother's, but somehow, also soft and pensive like his mother's. And despite the warmth and tenderness beneath his armor, a cold, muted darkness laced every feature.

Honestly, he was...striking. And he didn't even realize it, which made him all the more beautiful.

Slowly, his hands slid up my forearms, gliding over my wrists and into my palms, his fingers threading through mine. It was a bold move, considering I could send a death wave through my gloves at any moment.

Then again, he'd never displayed any reservations when it came to touching my palms. They'd nearly killed him on multiple occasions, and yet he never once looked at them like the weapons they were. Which meant he either placed his complete trust in me, or he didn't fear death.

His face was close now. Close enough that I had to look back and forth between his eyes.

He leaned forward, and my heart kicked against my ribcage, unsure what to do, where to hide. His eyes flicked over my enraptured expression and the blush that undoubtedly flooded my cheeks. Then he bent his head down next to my ear. "Never turn your back on the enemy when they're still breathing."

His breath tickled my neck, and I turned my head slightly, my cheek brushing his. "I thought that was your job. To watch my back."

He exhaled in amusement, peeling back to watch me.  "I won't always be there."

My grin vanished, and when he saw the change in me, so did his.

"That's not what I meant," he amended.

I turned my head away, wincing. "No, you're right."

There was no guarantee that he'd stick around forever. We'd discussed that reality two nights ago on a rusty trampoline.